


The Unintentional Thievery of a Dragon's Heart

by mitsukai613



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anthropomorphic!Smaug, Awkwardness, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Shapeshifting, dragon!Smaug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2039709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has sworn to do what he can for the Company at all costs; if that means breaking into a dragon's hoard to steal back the Arkenstone, well... he certainly isn't excited about it, by any means, but it's what he must do. He finds his way to the cavern with the hoard easily enough, and thinks for a moment that, even though he can't see the Arkenstone anywhere, he might actually make it out. After all, he can see no sign of the dragon anyway. </p><p>He feels, however, a very sudden call to a certain ring buried amongst the other riches, one wholly opposite from the one he'd felt upon seeing the magic ring he then held in his pocket. He can't help but pick it up and put it on, and the warmth he feels from it makes him willing to continue his search for the Arkenstone. In the process, however, he wakes up a rather annoyed Smaug who has just realized that the one being capable of stealing his heart is a pint-sized not-dwarf whose claim to fame is riding in barrels. Oh well; at least he's cuddly looking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unintentional Thievery of a Dragon's Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostdreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostdreaming/gifts).



> My endless thanks to ghostdreaming for this idea, given that there's absolutely no way I could've come up with this on my own, especially considering my month-long period of, "oh no oh no what do I write". In any case, I had good fun writing this, and I hope that ghostdreaming, and everybody else, enjoys! Also, um, P.S., Wednesday, in addition to Wednesday, also means Tuesday night now. Just so you know.

                I stared at the door to Erebor, the place we had been seeking for so many moons, and the desolation of it truly surprised me. I suppose it shouldn’t have, however; after all, such a long period in the company of a dragon was sure to cause a place severe damage. All the stories I’d heard of Erebor’s splendor, however, its overwhelming beauty… the current state of things did indeed surprise me. Still, I’d never seen Thorin (or anyone else in the company, for that matter) happier than just then, gazing warmly at the opening in the side of the mountain. The sight of it was almost enough to make me forget that I was about to be the first through, the first besides Smaug to be inside in decades. I was about to face a dragon alone. Not even a year ago, I couldn’t help but think, I’d been a perfectly respectable hobbit from a perfectly respectable family living a perfectly respectable life. And now I was about to face a dragon. I felt, oddly enough, like laughing.

                “Bilbo?” Thorin asked me, “Are you well?” I nodded, breathless.

                “Yes. Yes, I’m. I’m quite well, thank you.” His eyebrow appeared to be attempting to nest within his hairline. I smiled again at the thought before I turned my attention back to the door again, to the long gray hallway on the other side. The entrance to a dragon’s lair; my books had always suggested that it would be more dramatic. I chuckled faintly at my own joke before I took my first slow, careful step inside. The dwarves followed me, their voices quiet, reverent as they spoke of their memories of this place, of its beauty. I wished, starkly, that all of the dwarves could have been there and seen. And then, then I saw it, the throne carved in the wall.

                “The throne of the king,” someone whispered, and I finally settled my hand gently on the glowing jewel that seemed to be suspended above said throne.

                “What is this?” I asked, soft, and Balin touched my arm gently.

                “The Arkenstone,” he answered, and I swallowed even as Thorin turned to face me, his voice hard and serious. I could see a flame in his eyes, burning hot and dangerous like the forges he’d long worked.

                “That, my dear Burglar,” Thorin stated, “is what you are here to steal.” I felt myself stiffen, a touch, at the tone in his voice, the hardness, the tension. But that was what I was here to do; I would not let my friends down. I would do as they asked of me. Still yet… I knew that there would be countless jewels in Erebor; it was, after all, an old Dwarven stronghold, and one that had been enticing enough to a dragon that he’d taken it.

                “How will I find it?” My voice was quiet, too quiet, a bit rough; I was certain that each of them could hear my fear within it. None of them commented, however. I didn’t honestly imagine that any of them felt no fear in such a place, such a dangerous, deadly place.

                “It is a jewel, a large, white jewel; there is only one like it. I imagine you’ll know it, feel it, when you see it,” Balin said, smiling faintly as if in reassurance. He touched my shoulder very lightly, very softly, and gazed at me warmly. I mustered a smile of my own in response, and he chuckled. “You would yet do this? There is no shame, you know, in turning back now.” I gritted my teeth and shook my head once, hard.

                “I will not. I made my promise, Balin; I will not abandon you now.” He laughed, but not at me; more so, I think, it was a kind, amazed laughter.

                “The courage of Hobbits will always astound me. But, Bilbo, if there is a dragon… do not awaken it.” As if I needed the reminder. I smiled, still feeling a touch shaky, but I set off again, on my own this time, anyway.

                My nerves bit at me; lack of drama in the entrance or not, I had no illusions as to what horrors I’d find inside this ancient, crumbling fortress of a kingdom. The air felt thick and old inside, and chills that I wasn’t entirely certain were from the subterranean cold ran up and down my body.

                The light behind me grew ever more faint, the voices of my companions ever more silent. I heard a few ask, very faintly, that Thorin bring me back, that I’d earned my share a hundred times over without doing _this,_ but I ignored it. I could only consider going forward, forward, always forward; I would help them regain their home. I had made my promise, and they were my friends, I reminded myself again; a Baggins does not break his oaths and a Baggins certainly does not abandon his friends.

                The hall was tight and enclosed, and I felt a sort of claustrophobia tie a noose about my heart. This was a foreboding, dangerous place, left to time and the cares of a dragon. Wind whispered by my ear, a sad, forgotten melody that reminded me a bit of the first song I’d heard the Dwarves sing, snug and warm in my living room. I found myself humming it faintly as I crept through the darkened halls, and finally came into an enormous cavern filled with gold, with jewels, with all manner of shiny, beautiful, valuable things.

                I’d heard stories before, of how the average dwarf, after a day of mining, had more than enough to purchase the whole of the Shire, but I had always thought them to be exaggerations before that moment, before I saw those gargantuan heaps of wealth. I swallowed, my eyes surely glassy at the extravagance. It was an ocean, an entire sea, of gold, and, after I made my way down the stairs into it, I realized that there was no way to walk upon it silently no matter how lightly I stepped.

                Ah, well; I could see, after all, no sign of a dragon, and I couldn’t imagine that I’d miss a dragon, of all things, even one in so large a room. I allowed myself another faint smile as I moved about, checking stone after stone, waiting for that moment that I would feel whatever feeling it was that Balin had mentioned. I would not, could not, fail in this task.

                And then I felt it, very suddenly; a jolt of heat in the icy cavern, soft and comfortable and… beautiful. I walked towards the feeling as a man possessed, my hands out, until I found the object that seemed to be producing it. It was not a stone, however; in actuality, it was a ring, a golden ring, like the one that lay heavy and cold in my pocket in nothing but that metal. This one was decorated finely, the main focal point being a fiery opal set in the center, though smaller, equally glimmering stones surrounded it. I don’t think I truly meant to pick it up, honestly, but I found it in my hands, slid onto my finger, before I truly even knew what I was doing.

                It felt as if it belonged there, and even though I was not the type to be taken in by such things often… well, it wasn’t as if any of the dwarves would truly object to me taking a piece of my share early, would they? Surely not. I stroked it softly as I dived back into the gold, still seeking the Arkenstone as requested of me, and I thought, perhaps, I saw a larger pile where it could’ve been. I lifted a goblet out of the way and set off an avalanche. Actually, I set off multiple. Enormous piles of gold began to shift and move, sliding down into valleys and causing my heart to race and to stop in cycles.

                It settled on stopping as the cavern’s hidden secret revealed itself in the form of the dragon. It lay there, larger even than life itself, its body sleek and long, glistening with reddish scales, its breath almost too hot and nearly strong enough to send me sprawling. I had never seen a beast of the type and doubted that I’d ever see another again; the books, the pictures, were nothing to compare with the real thing settled before me now.

                I thought, for a moment, to flee, to never return, but something about the creature… I was frightened, to be sure, but not nearly so much as I would’ve expected. The ring sent a wash of heat over my body, along with a relaxing happiness that nearly made me want to curl up and have a good sleep myself, despite being certain that the gold would prod and pinch my already dirty, injured skin. I knew even still that I’d be better off leaving, and was about to ignore all the warmth and the lazy feeling and the comfort and leave, but one massive eye suddenly opened, molten gold fixing itself upon me as if I were the only thing within that cavernous space. I wondered for a moment, perhaps foolishly, how something so gigantic could even imagine seeing something so small as myself.

                I considered the other ring in my pocket and thought for a moment of putting it on, but I couldn’t imagine it doing much good against such a creature; after all, a dragon’s senses were almost as legendary as dragons themselves. A little bauble like that would almost certainly not fool one, most especially not after it saw me as this one had. It lifted its massive head slowly, almost as if stretching its neck after a long, luxuriant nap, before lowering itself to eye level to look even more closely at me.

                “It has been some time since I have seen a thief,” it said, the quality of its voice reminding me of a murmur, though the volume seemed to shake even the mountain’s ancient foundations. I did not reply, my throat seeming as if it had closed of its own accord, as if I had never before spoken and would never speak again. Such, I think, was the might of that dragon, the might of Smaug. Something like a chuckle exploded from the dragon’s throat. “Come now, little thief, don’t be shy. Speak, and tell me why you have stolen from me.”

                There was fire in the words, slipping out of Smaug’s mouth in careful, thin, non-dangerous tendrils, almost of its own accord, as though it were a living thing. My heart fluttered like a caged butterfly in my chest, and still I could not seem to procure the undefinable, impossible to explain terror that I would have expected. If anything, I felt only nervous, as if standing for a speech amongst the Shire’s elders, and just like such a moment, I could still not bring myself to choke out even the most meager of words.

                “Still silent? There is something about you, my thief, something you carry. Something golden. Something precious. Something _stolen_ ,” Smaug said, and if I were a braver hobbit, I might have called what I heard in his voice amusement. My hand shot to the ring I’d procured, the one that had blazed into a wildfire on my finger, certainly hot enough to burn but for some reason sparing me pain.

                “I did not… I did not come here to steal from you, Mighty Smaug,” I finally managed, a waver in my threadbare voice. I expected to be eaten in a gulp. I expected to be incinerated. I expected many things. I did not, however, expect uproarious laughter.

                “And yet that is what you did, hm? Do you think that I do not know my own treasures? You wear my ring, little thief, there upon your finger.” The massive snout lowered even further, until it was almost settled upon the precarious mountain of gold on which I stood, and touched itself lightly to the flaming ring on my hand. At his touch, the heat increased even more, and still, still it did not burn me, still I felt no pain from it. “Now, little one, if you did not come here to be a thief, what did you come here to be?” I thought quickly, my mind running over a million answers, until I finally settled on the one that I hoped would offend him least.

                “I have read… I have read many stories, oh Smaug, of your… your greatness. I wanted to see for myself if those stories were true,” I managed, stuttering for the first time since my days as a fauntling. I wouldn’t have imagined that a creature so large could move so quickly, but the sinuous creature flashed around the column I stood by like a lightning strike so that it could have the space to raise itself to its full height, its wings spread wide at its side. In any other situation, I’d have said that the creature was… preening. I’ve no idea, to be sure, why that idea made me smile, but I was hiding one quickly behind my hands all the same.

                “They fall… short, Smaug, of your… enormity, and greatness,” I said, growing a touch more confident, and again I was faced with the dragon’s snout.

                “I have been flattered by many, thief. May I ask where you heard my name? I have never smelled your sort before.” Truth or lie? I did not know which would be best, which would keep the dragon interested, and decided on truth, but a twisted truth, one that would give him a puzzle.

                “I come from under the hill, and over the hill. I am the luck-wearer, the riddle-maker, and the… barrel-rider,” I managed, and another chuckle slid from the dragon’s throat, dulcet and strange.

                “Barrel-rider? Was it ridden, I wonder, with your dwarf companions, thief?” Everything about me went tense, from the top of my head to my toes, and I could see the flash of what might’ve been a smile across the beast’s face.

                “Dwarves? Certainly not! There are no dwarves here,” I stated, attempting confidence and succeeding only in sounding as a fearful babe. I saw the first flash of true anger in the dragon’s eyes, a rage that made the gold of his eyes swirl like a true liquid.

                “No dwarves! Do you think me so foolish that I cannot smell dwarf, thief? I know their scent as well as I know these halls! They have sent you here to do their dirty work, to take my _heart._ But how, I wonder, did they know you would be the one to find it?” The creature’s face neared mine again, and I held my breath as he nosed my cheek as lightly as he could. My eyes flashed around quickly, hoping to see the Arkenstone somewhere. If I could find it, I could put on my ring and make a run for it, flee back to the company and hope that, perhaps, Gandalf had returned and could help us fight. Of course, I did have some questions about the “heart” he’d mentioned as well; was it the Arkenstone? I licked my lips once, recalling very suddenly the trolls early in our quest, and wished that a dragon was as simple to fool as they’d been.

                “I didn’t…,” I attempted, and Smaug burst into laughter, the anger seeming to fade from his eyes as he slunk a few steps away from me. My chest was tight with worry; the simple fact that I was still alive at all boded well, of course, but it also confused me greatly.

                “Why lie when I see it upon your finger, thief? Or, perhaps… they did not send you here to steal that, did they? No; dwarves are not nearly so clever. Something else; perhaps the Arkenstone? I’ve heard they’ve a taste for that little bauble, for one reason or another. But it called to you, didn’t it? That ring you’ve dawned. A dragon only ever has but one who may take his heart in his life, but one who can even see it to take it; a sad fate for one who lives so long as we. I had thought, perhaps, that I had missed my own in my years of rest, and yet here you stand. I’d have never imagined a lowly thief, one who looks like dwarf but is not, one who calls himself barrel-rider.” I stared, looking down at the new ring again, the ring that apparently only I could even see, and felt the rush of warmth once more. I reached out to touch it, perhaps to return it, but the moment I attempted to twist it off, it seemed to become a part of me, integral, as attached to me as my finger itself.

                “I don’t understand,” I said, and Smaug seemed to smile, although he remained silent. I thought, very foolishly, looking back, that nothing would ever be said again, that he would simply perch there and gaze at me for the rest of eternity, but then something began to happen. He began to… to change, I suppose is the best way to describe it.

                The massive form that had once taken up half the cavern began to shrink, the creature’s bones shifting under its skin to take on the shape of a man. The glistening reddish scales began to fade, revealing pink-flushed skin and a mass of curled, deep brown hair. He looked as a man might in nearly every way, but I wouldn’t have mistaken him for one; a demon, perhaps, but not a man. His wings still stretched behind him, for one, and graceful horns still protruded from the mess of hair. Even his eyes retained their immortal, liquid gold quality, dangerous and far too intelligent, far too ancient.

                “I mean only that you have stolen my heart, little thief, and that you are the finest in all of Middle Earth for you are the only one who could’ve done it. Might I have your name?” I have not always been a respectable hobbit. In fact, in all my years of life, I had been a respectable hobbit for only about ten of them. As such, I think that no one would blame me for my expression then, my mouth gaping and my eyes wide with shock. To be told you’d taken a dragon’s heart… it was not the sort of thing I’d expected upon entering Erebor. More, I think, I’d been expecting something closer to one of the fiery and painful deaths outlined in the contract I’d signed back in the Shire. Smaug only stared down at me expectantly, as if he’d forgotten all that had already happened.

                “I… I’m afraid I’m not who you’re looking for, Smaug the… the indescribably wealthy. The ring, I simply. It was quite pretty, and. You can have it back, certainly. As you said, I came for the Arkenstone. I’ll… once I have it, I’ll go. If you stay like this, perhaps… perhaps the dwarves will let you stay.” He smirked at me, and I realized for the first time his state of dress. Or, rather, his lack thereof. I felt my face flame as I began to look anywhere but him, and damn, but I still couldn’t seem to see the thing I’d come here for. The dragon crept closer to me again, body unfairly sinuous, and stroked down the back of my cheek with one hand before he leaned down and… and… nuzzled my neck. I was reminded quite suddenly of a smallish, stray cat I often fed back at the Shire.

                “You will _not_ give it back to me. You have stolen it, my thief, and so you shall keep it. Now, if you’ll not tell me you name, tell me what you are, where you come from.” I glanced at the stairs, not far behind me. He was much smaller, much more manageable like this. Surely I could run. The ring was almost distractingly warm, distractingly comfortable, at my finger. I needed, however, to distract him; if I could do that sufficiently, then surely I could get away.

                “I’m… I’m a hobbit, Smaug the stupendous. From the Shire. Bag End, specifically. My name is… it’s Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins.” I fought the urge to hold my hand out to shake, and he pawed lightly at my chest, shifting his attention from the hollow of my neck to my hair. His own hair tickled me, a bit, and I couldn’t resist the faint chuckle. I felt him smile against my ear as he finally pulled away, and in the same way I’d fought against offering a handshake, I fought against insisting that he put on clothes. Surely there were some lying around, after all! Still yet, I didn’t think that a dragon, of all things, would take too kindly to being bossed about by me.

                “A hobbit? I haven’t heard of hobbits; of course, I’ve been sleeping for many years, and things here seem to change often. I remember, even, the days before man walked upon the fields; the days of endless summer, the elfish rule.” He had large hands, I noted, almost disproportionately so, and faintly pointed ears.

                “We’re… we don’t travel much, us hobbits,” I managed, even pulling off a faint smile. Smaug hummed, finally ceasing in his cuddling and instead just taking my hands between his, clasping them softly. His nails were a bit too sharp, and still my foolish insistence on being relatively unafraid of him persisted. Lack of sharp fangs and claws and fire or not, he was still a dragon, was still far more deadly than myself.

                “That’s lucky. You won’t mind, then, staying with me.” I froze.

                “What?” The dragon laughed.

                “Staying with me, thief. Or, Bilbo, I suppose. I can’t, of course, simply allow you to run off now that I’ve finally found you.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if he were explaining to me how to breathe, that it took me a moment to realize exactly what it was he’d really said.

                “Certainly not!” I yelled, and he looked faintly shocked, golden eyes turning into wide disks.

                “But you must.” I felt as if I were dealing with a fauntling, for a moment, and a particularly stubborn one at that.

                “No.”

                “Why not?”

                “I’ve only just met you, for one. In addition, this is the home of the dwarves, not yours; they are my friends. I am here only for the Arkenstone.” He gritted his teeth for a moment, then bared them for another, danger in his expression.

                “It is but a piece of rock. One pretty enough to corrupt a dwarven mind, of course, but a piece of rock nonetheless. You’ve the most valuable thing here upon your finger.” And that was when I figured out what would likely be the best way to deal with this particularly situation. I smiled.

                “Smaug, I will not stay with you here. I refuse to do so, especially at the cost of my friends. I will, however, make a deal with you.” He looked amused and intrigued as he settled himself on one of his piles of gold. He looked the perfect image of nobility; I supposed he’d had plenty of time to practice.

                “A deal, hm? I suppose I’d be willing to listen to you for a moment, at the least, clever little creature that you are.” He waved a hand as if telling me to get on with it, and I settled my hands at my hips, somewhat annoyed with the creature and shocked at myself for the ability.

                “You may come back to my Shire with me and stay with me there,” I said. “You’ll not have your gold, but you’ll have me, I suppose, and surely I’ve at least a few shiny bits in my home you could keep.” I wasn’t entirely sure as to why I was offering this; a dragon in the Shire was… unprecedented, to say the least of the matter. The golden eyes bored into me, and he crossed his legs, sighing thoughtfully.

                “May I bring my favorite bits, Bilbo, barrel-rider of the Shire?” He sounded faintly sarcastic, and I blinked.

                “I suppose so; I’ll call it my share from the quest.” The dragon smiled very faintly and stood again, taking me once more by my hands.

                “You think that I will refuse your offer, Bilbo, I see it on your face. You believe that my hoard is of too much value to me to leave it to the hands of dwarves again. You’ve little understanding of how much value lies in this,” he said, stroking the ring softly. He was correct, in any case; I did not understand that day’s goings on. I did not understand the expression on his face, or the way he was acting towards me. Still yet, there was something… I felt as if this was meant to happen. Gandalf spoke often of destiny; I had never much bought into it, myself, but perhaps I’d just been privy to its touch.

                “You are correct; I do not understand. In any case, I seem to have become important to you, however unintentionally. Therefore, I am offering something that will perhaps be suitable for you so that my friends may be restored to their home.” He nodded, patting my hand again.

                “Of course. I will take your bargain, Bilbo, but might I offer you a suggestion before I gather what things I would like to keep?” I tilted my head.

                “Surely,” I said. He was an ancient thing, vastly intelligent; I’d take whatever advice he wished to give me.

                “Do not give them the Arkenstone; take it, and hide it, thief. Tell them that I have destroyed it in my flames for the magic it held, the magic I desired.” I blinked.

                “Why ever would I do that? The Arkenstone was the reason for my entry here. Thorin needs it.” Laughter burst forth from Smaug’s throat, warm and gentle, and I felt myself enjoying the sound quite unexpectedly.

                “I’ll admit, Bilbo, that I’ve little tolerance for dwarves; they are loud, greedy little things that think themselves greater than they are. You, however, have obviously developed a taste for them. I say this for you, not for them; the Arkenstone is a dangerous thing. Without it, perhaps your Thorin can avoid the gold-sickness that took the rest of his family. He will be angered at first, of course, but given time… it will be better for all, I swear as much.” I do not know why I trusted a dragon, most especially so soon after meeting him, but I did.

                “Where is it?” I asked, and Smaug smiled, turned to a smallish pile in one corner, dug a few feet down, and plucked a large, glowing white stone from the pile, passing it to me.

                “Keep it close to you. They will search the chest I bring, but you… they trust you, if they sent you here to steal form me.” I swallowed thickly, guilt biting at me, but… dragons were often thought to be somewhat prophetic, and this one had a liking for me. I didn’t want my friends to suffer, and if orchestrating this one betrayal would keep them happy, I would do it. I hid the stone beneath my loose clothing, binding it there with an old strap I found on the ground. Smaug found a chest full of gold coins and dumped them carelessly on the ground, before he walked slowly about the room, plucking seemingly random things from the piles as he went. I wondered vaguely how he kept track of anything in the golden ocean, but surely the mind of a dragon was not mine to understand.

                He even dressed without me having to ask him to do so, and that was how we left the cavern and returned to the world above, where the majority of the company awaited with obviously bated breath.

                I had never seen them draw weapons as quickly as they did at the sight of Smaug, even mostly man-shaped as he was. Fear jolted through me, ridiculous fear of Smaug being hurt, and my body, weak shield though it was, slid in front of him before I even thought to do so. The dwarves all gazed at me with shock and wonder and fear and perhaps a touch of anger in their eyes, Thorin especially, and I shook my head.

                “I’ve made a bargain with him,” I said, “he has given up Erebor, and all the treasures within except those which lie in that chest in his arms. I’m afraid, however, that the Arkenstone is no more, Thorin; it was destroyed decades ago, for its magic.” The dwarf king stiffened, his eyes blazing with black fire I didn’t recognize. Thorin had never been anything but a bit prickly, I knew that, but the look on his face now… it was not him. It was not the man I knew, the man I called my friend. His blade, unlike those of the others, did not turn away from me.

                “Burglar, how dare you tell me such a lie? How dare you consort with the likes of that monster? Have I not mended the bridges between us? Have I not included you as one of us?” I swallowed convulsively, my hands out, and I was about to speak, to see if I could talk sense back into him, when I felt Smaug almost vibrate with a growl that faded quickly into a hiss. He pushed me back behind him almost gently and stepped forward until the blade was pressing against his belly, surely hard enough that it should’ve cut him, but only the shirt he’d donned tore.

                “Do not point a blade at the holder of my heart, dwarf. He speaks truth to you; the magic of the Arkenstone was sweet, and a treat I could scarcely deny myself after taking this castle. I do not have it, and it will not be found in the hoard below; search my chest if you wish.” Thorin tore into the box wildly and cursed in his own tongue when he didn’t see it. The rest of the company touched him softly in an effort to calm him, and his eyes clenched closed, and aborted roar rumbling from his chest.

                “Bilbo, I am… my apologies. You have done well for us, and surely deserve to be called one of our own.” I nodded and moved back beside Smaug, who had bent to get his chest again.

                “Of course; I realize how important it was to you, but I’ve no doubt that you’ll be able to rule without it. You’ll be a good king, Thorin Oakenshield,” I said, and he chuckled faintly, his head clutched in his hands, looking honestly a little lost.

                I could understand that, of course; he had embarked on this quest being almost certain that he would fail, that he would die. And now he was here. He was getting his kingdom back without even a fight. It was over.

                “You speak as if you’re leaving us, Bilbo,” he said, and I smiled.

                “The quest is over; now, it’s time for you to rebuild, and I’ve another promise to keep,” I said, gesturing vaguely to Smaug, who looked, honestly, a touch pouty. The words, however, made him smile again as he took me by the arm.

                “That’s it, then?” Thorin asked, and I shook my head.

                “Certainly not! I simply think I’d be of little aid in the rebuilding. Once you’ve all settled, however, I’ll surely pay visits. After all, I can’t say I’ve ever had any finer friends than you all.” They smiled, faint, all of them obviously a bit sad and just as lost as Thorin seemed. I’d never been particularly good at goodbyes, and Smaug tugging at me as though he was an impatient child was helping little.

                “Thank you, Bilbo,” they said, somewhat together even if they’d not meant to do so.

                “We’ll miss you fiercely. Be well, and be careful,” Balin murmured, and Smaug tilted his head up, gazing down his nose at them.

                “I will keep him safe; nothing will touch him through me.” Confusion, the whole of them gazing at me bemusedly, and I could understand it. This was not the way I’d imagined the quest ending. Of course, I couldn’t truly claim displeasure, but… well, it was simply odd, seeing a dragon in such a form, most especially a dragon with a reputation like Smaug’s, a dragon known for destruction.

                Even with this promise, however, the dwarves seemed somewhat unwilling to allow me to go. They seemed to each think of something they wanted me to take before I left, a word they wished to impart. Even Thorin and Dwalin found something foolish, something silly, to discuss with me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at it all even as Smaug attempted to drag me back against him, nuzzling the top of my head quite huffily.

                Still, eventually they could think of nothing else to hold me; I made promises to have letters sent, especially to those who were still in Dale, and Smaug removed the clothing he’d donned without a shred of shame and transformed again, massive dragon once more. I climbed upon his back as he bid even as the dwarves grew worried again, and he took off before they could stop us.

                I bent over his neck and held as tightly as I could even though my arms didn’t even go all the way around, and felt him chuckle as he flew over the village. I saw the villagers cower and recalled what he had done, feeling momentarily afraid that he would not keep our bargain, but he never made as if to do anything, instead just flying away, large enough, it seemed, to blot out the sun. I directed him towards the outskirts of the Shire as best I could over the roaring wind in my ears, clutching his chest and his clothes between my legs and squeezing my eyes shut.

                Somehow, this was managing to be even more terrifying than flying on Gandalf’s birds. Possibly because birds were not dragons and were really much smaller. Even still, there was not even a moment when I felt as if I would fall; I trusted that he’d hold me aloft, that I’d reach the Shire again safely, and that was the first time I’d felt that way since I’d left. The ring burned again, and I only barely thought it strange anymore that I felt that way beside the most dangerous being I’d ever encountered.

* * *

 

                I’m certain that this isn’t much of a surprise, but dragon flight is quite the speedy way to travel. We landed in a very large field just outside of the Shire by the next evening, one that, given a few months, would likely be tilled and used for farming. I slid down Smaug’s back and off his tail, him making a slight murmuring noise as I did so, and moments later, he stood as a man again. I gave him the clothing he’d shed back at Erebor, and he nodded thankfully.

                “It has been many years since I’ve changed so often,” he said, taking my hand again thoughtlessly as I led him truly, for the first time, into the Shire. I thought, perhaps, that it’d be a nice, easy evening from there; I’d sneak in and greet everyone properly the next morning. I found, instead, people auctioning off my things.

                Or, I suppose, they _were_ auctioning off my things until they saw me walk up with Smaug at my side. They ceased quite quickly at the sight of him, and I danced between anger and amusement at their faces, especially Lobelia’s.

                “Might I ask why my things are up for sale?” Smaug hummed, as if just realizing that my things were the ones being sold, and stepped forward.

                “I’m afraid I don’t think the reason why matters, love. Rather, I think everyone whose bought something had best get their gold back and return what they bought to its rightful place.” The way he spoke to me sounded natural, almost confusingly so, but it made me smile nonetheless, especially when the auction turned rapidly into a race to return everything. I imagined that the silver spoons in the belt of Lobelia’s dress as she fled were likely not hers even still, but assumed I could deal with that later. After all, the moment everything was in its place, I was being swarmed with people asking to hear of my adventure, and questioning Smaug’s identity.

                I spent the evening outside my door telling the story again and again, Smaug settled beside me and periodically tugging at loose threads of my jacket. Eventually, however, I had to insist that they leave so that I could rest, and, rather grudgingly, they did.

                Walking into my home once more felt like the sweetest thing I’d ever done, and Smaug looked about curiously, his expression unexpectedly pleased.

                “It will do,” he said, moving around slowly and grabbing at blankets and pillows and every other soft thing he could find. I’ll admit that perhaps it took me a bit longer than it should’ve to react. Of course, I don’t think you’d actually be in top form either, if a dragon began to make a nest in your living room floor.

                “What are you doing?” I yelped, and he gave me that look again, the one that suggested I was being very silly indeed.

                “I am making a bed,” he said, very slowly, before lying down in it and dragging me along with him. I yelped, but he covered us quickly and held me tight, curling tightly around me as if he thought he was still dragon-sized. “And now I am going to sleep.” He, at least, was not a liar; I heard quiet snores mere moments after that, and found myself chuckling and shaking my head for presumably no reason at all. For even less reason, I actually ended up falling asleep beside him, then, in that warm, cozy nest he’d made. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever slept any better.

* * *

 

                The next day began much the same as the prior evening; people swarmed my home and requested the story, requested to know all that had happened whilst I’d been gone before the news of the dwarves reclaiming Erebor arrived at the Shire through other means. After a night of good rest, I didn’t particularly mind, although I did run them off not long after so I could clean myself up.

                It was also then, however, that I caught sight of Smaug still napping in the nest and realized that he’d be needing more than just those clothes to wear, so I requested that the Shire’s major tailor, who’d been there almost since I’d awoken, stitched some things together for him, which I offered to pay for with one of my own old pieces of jewelry, but she agreed to do it for free as a welcome home gift.

                In any case, I bathed myself quickly, feeling wonderful to get the grime off, and headed into my kitchen to start breakfast. The smell, of course, drew Smaug from his lazy sleep, and he slunk from the bed he’d made to squeeze me again, yawning noisily and sending smoke pluming from his throat. I coughed while I laughed, pushing him away teasingly and wondering where this… this comfort had come from.

                “Good morning, Bilbo,” he murmured, and I nodded.

                “Same to you,” I said. “Is there anything you’d like? Most of my food’s spoiled whilst I’ve been gone, but there’s still plenty that’s good.” He smiled, spinning me around and kissing me softly. I jolted, not entirely expecting it even if, perhaps, I should’ve been, but something about it… it felt as if it was meant to happen. As if it was normal. I pressed back against the touch softly, gently, and he pulled away smiling, stroking my hair now.

                “What’s on smells nice,” he said, and I put a bit more in the pan for him. It was difficult to believe that the day before I’d been breaking into an ancient dwarven stronghold when today I was back in the Shire with a dragon for a companion. I couldn’t help but think that I could get used to it, though, having him around.  

                I thought, in fact, that it’d be quite the fine day until I recalled the Arkenstone, left with my old clothes after my bath.

                “Oh! The Arkenstone; we simply must find somewhere to hide it,” I said, and he nodded.

                “For now, put it in my chest. I believe I’ve a place, but I believe I’d rather stay here with you for a bit before I left to put it there.” I tilted my head and moved to do just that, tucking the Arkenstone away in the bottom of the box.

                “Where?” He shook his head.

                “It’s best I don’t say, and you’ll not be coming with me. It won’t be safe,” he said, and I rolled my eyes; I’d have that particular argument later, I decided. After all, I was tired, and yet hungry, so instead I simply went back to the table to finish my meal.

                After that, it was, as I’d thought, an exceptionally wonderful day. I spent as much of it as I could with Smaug, growing more used to his presence each and every second, and periodically I even found myself reaching out for his hand or his arm instead of vice versa. He even went with me to the market, something few of my friends from the village had ever been willing to do, considering they found it dull.

                Not to mention the fact that he intimidated Lobelia into returning my silver, which was quite viscerally satisfying after her years of annoyance at a half-Took such as myself inheriting Bag End. Yes, I thought as we returned to my home and he dragged me back into the nest I assumed he’d decided to insist on us sleeping in, kissing me sweetly again on the way, I could certainly get used to having a dragon’s heart. And he, I supposed, would simply have to get used to having mine. I wondered as I fell asleep, him curled around me once more and nuzzling the back of my neck, if I could manage to knit a scarf for him by the holidays.

 


End file.
